


Just. Us.

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Complicated Relationships, CousyInSpace, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Kissing, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sleeping Together, Undressing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: Written for #cousyinspace. Daisy and Coulson are separated then meet again. For the prompts: tides in the universe and awkward decontamination shower moment leads to not-so-awkward making out.





	Just. Us.

"Just us."

They already understand the implication, why the rest of the team was separated from them.

After they were put through a full-body medical scan, by the TSA on space steroids, they ended up here.

Who knows where here is. This is just a hub, before they're sent to another destination.

One where they'll serve out their sentences.

The trial itself was for show. They were accused of things they didn't understand by an authority they never knew existed.

You can't pull on a string of the fabric of the universe. You can't violate the laws of spacetime.

Actually, you can, she thinks, with a smirk. She was right in the end.

But then this is the penalty.

The blaring, beeping siren starts, and both look up at the flashing lights for a moment, then at each other.

They're told in several languages that the decontamination process will commence.

"At least we're not alone," he reassures her, then turns away with his back to her, and sighs.

She hears the rustle of clothing and tries to concentrate on her own, not feel humiliated, as the automated voice gives them instructions.

If they didn't already know they weren't receiving a death-sentence, this experience would be terrifying.

It makes her refuse to think about things that might be worse than death. 

They'll get out of this, too.

"I just got you back," she says, trying to make things lighter. "I didn't think I'd lose you again so soon."

Then, his hand is on her shoulder, and she turns around to face him, looking into his eyes and nowhere else.

Holding onto his warm smile as the room is flooded with a mist that creates a thick haze between them.

"I don't want to be alone again," she admits quietly, wrapping her arms around him, hoping he doesn't think she's asking too much.

"I'm sorry," he says, his breath warm and brushing against her temple. "If I could-"

It's curious their jailers think they are the same only because they both have GH-325 in their blood.

They really have no idea.

"Do it all over again?" she finished, lifting her chin so that she can find his face, his voice.

"There are things I would do differently," he answers, his voice vibrating, almost trembling between them. "But not this."

She breathes out, finding it was trapped in her chest, and she smiles at the realization she can feel him smiling back at her.

Wondering why they've never let themselves get this close before.

Or, thinking more about what a shame it is that it's only just happened now.

" _Daisy_."

Her name comes out in a low whisper, and his lips brush against her cheek, at the corner of her mouth, his nose sliding against hers.

Then the room becomes loud as lights flare again and the mist is sucked away, the decontamination process finished.

A bundle with a pack of clothes for each of them drops from the ceiling between them as they step back to stare at them.

They both turn around quickly and start to dress.

  
####

  
"This is yours," she tells him, motioning towards the open bunk with the thin blanket folded on it.

He pulls a slight face and looks down the corridor, like he's unsatisfied or searching for something.

"I'm just down there," she adds, pointing to the fifth bunk on the right, past the others which are closed with sleeping passengers inside.

Then he nods, and tries to smile, duly reassured, and then it slips into a look of resignation.

"Hey," she asks, putting her hand on his arm, and he flinches, like he's not used to being touched, to soft words or kindness. "If there's anything that you need-"

"I-," he starts to tell her, relaxing and swallowing at the lump in his throat. "I don't want to be alone. I just got you back."

She glances over at the small cot inside the open bunk and then nods. "Okay."

Her hand reaches out for his, taking it, and leading him inside of the space, really no larger than they had on the Bus when all of this first started.

"Do you mind?" she asks, lifting at the bottom of the threadbare sweater she's wearing.

"No," he says, shaking his head, but diverting his eyes, and sitting on the edge of the cot, starting to take the heavy workboots he's wearing off.

They were both a bit roughed up during his break out from the penal colony, so she's not sure how comfortable this will be.

But she understands the feeling. She wishes they could just be left alone, for once, to sort through this.

He watches her take her boots off. They're really big, with anti-gravity features.

She hasn't told him yet that she won them in a bet, but he seems sort of amused watching her undo all the latches and then try to put them out of the way since they take up so much space.

"That shirt looks...itchy," she says matter-of-factly. She thinks she knows why he's hesitating, but she doesn't want to make it worse. "Look, I can turn the lights off."

"Thanks," he says, with an embarrassed smile, and she settles into the bunk closest to the wall, then taps the dimmer.

He stands up and there is more rustling of clothing in the dark, then he sits again and carefully moves into the space that's left.

Once he seems to settle, she fits her body in closer to his, curling around him, but not too tightly.

His breathing is deep and rasping, like he's struggling to relax, but his injured right arm shouldn't have any pressure on it.

"Is this okay?" she asks him, shifting a little to separate their bodies more, if that's what he needs.

"No, no," he says, turning his face back towards her. "Could you....Could you _hold me_?"

"Yeah."

She scoots in closer to him, molding herself against him to spoon his body, sliding her hand under his arm as he lifts it out of the way, groaning a little.

"Careful," she warns him, and then feels his fingers on her hand, warm, and rough from the labor he was forced to do when he was on the inside.

He laces his fingers between hers, and then draws them further up his chest, until they're over his heart.

She can feel the soft hair there, and the scar, his hand pressing hers against it.

"I used to think I wasn't supposed to be here," he tells her.

"You're exactly where you belong," she answers, and feels the tension in his body release.

 

####

  
"Look at us, back together in quarantine," she says with her arms crossed, looking around at the familiar room with the universal contamination symbols painted on the walls.

"At least this time they're sending us home," he says with a smirk. "Doesn't mean they have to be nice about it."

"Doesn't mean we have to cooperate," she shrugs.

"We can make the best of it," he says innocently, scanning over the room again.

"They could at least act a _little_ grateful," she complains as the automated alarms ring out and they're notified that decontamination is beginning. "After all, we did their job _for_ them."

"I know," he says with a shake of his head. "Isn't that always the way?"

"I'm keeping the gravity boots," she points out, looking him over as she shimmies out of her pants and tosses them towards him. "Unless they want a real fight on their hands."

"You won those, fair and square," he agrees, dropping her clothes to the floor, and then pulls her towards him, cupping her face in his hands, kissing her slowly. "Twice."

Her eyes flicker up to the mischief in his, and she kisses him back, hard, ignoring the automated commands, thinking about how she hesitated to do this before, how impossible that seems now.

"I wasn't really going to trade you for them," she says, biting her bottom lip. "I just had to make them think I might. You're so much more useful to me now."

"I wasn't before?" he says with an-almost laugh at her teasing expression, then yanks his shirt up over his head instead, and drops it.

"Of course. I've just gotten to know another side of you," she announces.  She moves him back against the wall behind them, as his hands undo the clasp between her shoulder blades so she can slip out of the armored vest.

"I told you I could keep up," he says, closing his eyes, pressing his tongue inside against hers, slipping it in and out like it's a game between them, until it's too much and she yanks his pants apart, pushes them down enough so he can get free of them and kick them away.

The mist washes into the room and they stop for a moment, reorient themselves to the lack of visibility this time instead of hiding in it.

"This is ruining my view," he deadpans, as she turns them so her back is to the wall instead, then lifting her up with a grunt, he pins her against it.

"Tell me about it," she agrees, her leg curling solidly around his thigh, hand sliding between their bodies as his teeth make small, impermanent marks down her neck.

"Luckily, I have that view committed to memory," he says with a rumble in his voice, that turns into a gasp as she gets her hand on him. "It's beautiful."

Tossing her hair aside to keep it from sticking to her, he shifts his hips to follow her lead, and then slowly pushes inside as they gasp together.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says, voice quivering along her ear, his fingers pressing into her hip to anchor himself.

"You should've stayed then," she tells him, putting her fingers to his face to turn it, stopping his mouth in front of hers. "I wanted you to."

"I know," he nods. His lips brush against hers again. "I didn't want you to be alone at the Retreat, but, I was afraid-"

"We both were. Protecting the other from our past."

He hums in agreement and then they move together: hands and mouths and bodies; sounds sprinkled with laughter, as the room is emptied again; and they're spent and left staring at each other under the blare of the noise and the lights.

"I'm done being alone," she tells him, breaking the silence, eyes searching his.

"Me too."

They look up as the clothing packets drop from the ceiling to the floor, separating them.

"Time to go home," she tells him, bending to grab hers and ripping through the contamination wrapping.

Holding them up, they look like the clothes they were wearing when they first arrived, but clean and mended.

"Already there," he tells her with a raise of his eyebrows, as he tugs his jeans up over his ass.

"Then let's go get my boots," she grins, bumping her elbow against his.

Pulling on her leather jacket on as the exit door opens, she looks at him.

His hand slips into hers.  



End file.
